Fading Away
by Lots-of-Little-Pink-Clouds
Summary: Everything was fading away and Evan wonders for the first time, staring at the ever darkening sky, 'is this what death feels like?


**A/N:** BOOM! SUDDEN INSPIRATION! The writing style is quite similar to another one of my fanfics, **Incarceration** , so I'm sorry if it's a bit choppy and difficult to read. I've always wanted to write a story about Evan Rosier (there just don't seem to be enough), and now I can be proud to say that I have.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Title:** Fading Away

 **Rating:** T for language

 **Pairing:** N/A

 **Summary:** Everything was fading away and Evan wonders for the first time, staring at the ever darkening sky, 'is this what death feels like?'

 **Prompt:** N/A

 **Warning(s):** Lots of profanity. Be warned.

* * *

 **Fading Away**

Pounding, his heart is pounding, thumping loudly in his chest, his boots hitting the cobblestone road and he wonders if no one else can hear the sound of the wind in his ears, he wonders if no one else can smell death in the air. His death? Some random muggle whore's death two blocks over? Or was it the smoke that is currently swirling, burning the houses down around him, the sounds of screams filling the air?

He doesn't know.

Spellfire hits the stonework next to him and he's off again, when had he stopped running? The voices, not screams but shouts of 'he went that way' and 'get him' and 'we've got him for sure this time' echo behind him and there's one voice above them all questioning 'why, why would you do this?'

He doesn't know.

That damn magical eye and he's off again. With narrowed eye, cause the freaky bastard only had one, the pursuer follows, magical eye swivelling, wand arm trained and aiming and suddenly there's more spellfire, more smoke and he has to cough, eyes shutting, throat aching from inhaling all the smoke. He growls and wonders where it had all gone wrong, when everything seemed to suddenly be so out of reach; he wonders if it had always been that way. Everything had gone wrong, ickle bity Peter Pettigrew and his ratty self coming around and telling the Dark Lord, his Lord, 'I know where they are, they finally told me where they are!'

Evan isn't stupid (unlike some people he knows, to his misfortune as well as theirs). That fucking rat probably was the cause of it, he was probably the one who did the Dark Lord in – stupid, fucking ratface. Traitor, traitor, TRAITOR.

One more turn and then he's finally free of all that smoke and there they are in their FUCKING purple robes with their FUCKING shiny badges that said they were FUCKING aurors. He's done with them, so _fucking_ done.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

Green light, it's always been his favourite colour, shoots from his wand and he laughs, head thrown back to the sky above, stars blocked by the smoke and flame from the buildings around him. A dance that he's so familiar with begins, the only type of dance that he ever truly enjoyed, and suddenly he's dancing to the thumping and pounding of his heartbeat, the stomping of his boots hitting the cobblestone road, the roaring of the fire that consumed the buildings around him coming to a crescendo.

Then just as suddenly it stops. Hand coming up to his chest, gripping, clutching at his robes then coming away red and sticky and warm and he breathes shallowly, inhaling the smoke. He stumbles and they stop, wands still raised, trained on him, waiting and he wonders what they're waiting for.

The sound of the crackling fire seems to get further and further away and suddenly his back is cold, his head hurts, his wand, precious ash with its dragon heartstring core, slipping from his grasp, when had he fallen over? The sky was grey, filled with smoke and he could only watch as the red-tipped flames flickered on into the night and lighting up the sky, slowly becoming distant and almost like a dream, blurry and unfocused.

It was beautiful.

Evan smiles and gives a breathless laugh which turns into a cough and he can feel a warm wetness on his chin, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips, it tastes like blood. The roaring of the fire in his ears becomes muted, a persistent white noise that is slowly getting quieter and quieter. He experimentally moves his fingers, the ground he's lying on is cold and smooth, slightly grainy, then there's nothing there, but oddly enough he actually doesn't mind. The screams that had been ringing in his ears for the past hour or so were slowly quieting down and fading away.

Everything was fading away and Evan wonders for the first time, staring at the ever darkening sky, 'is this what death feels like?'


End file.
